the neck of the man in front of me.
March 21st: A fellow in our bay asked last night how much an admiral's pay was a month and when we told him he yawned, turned over on his side and said, "Not enough." He added that he could pick up that much at a first-class parade any time. We all tightened our wrist watches. Been blinking at the blinker all evening. Can't make much sense out of it. The bloomin' thing is always two blinks ahead of me. It's all very nice, I dare say, but I'd much rather get my messages on scented paper. I got one today. She called me her "Great, big, cute little sailor boy." Those were her exact words. How clever she is. I'm going to marry her just as soon as I'm a junior lieutenant. She'll wait a year, anyway.
March 22nd: I made up verses to myself in my hammock last night. Perhaps I'll send some of them to the camp paper. It would be nice to see your stuff in print. Here's one of the poems:
- THE UNREGENERATE SAILOR MAN -
I
I take my booze
In my overshoes;
I'm fond of the taste of rubber;
I oil my hair
With the grease of bear
Or else with a bull whale's blubber.
II
My dusky wife
Was a source of strife,
So I left her in Singapore
And sailed away
At the break of day--
Since then I have widowed four.
III
Avast! Belay,
And alack-a-day
That I gazed in the eyes of beauty.
For in devious ways
Their innocent gaze
Has caused me much extra duty.
IV
I never get past
The jolly old mast,
The skipper and I are quite chummy;
He knows me by sight
When I'm sober or tight

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